The Price of Defiance
by Vhetin1138
Summary: Merrill tries to comfort Hawke in the wake of Leandra Hawke's death. But Merrill has her work cut out for her, as Marian begins to believe magic is the root of all her troubles.
1. Loss

_Author's Note: This is my first (and probably my only) Dragon Age fanfic. I'm a little unfamiliar with the lore, but I'll do my best to remain as true to the world and characters as possible. That said, this story does explore my personal take on female mage Hawke's personality and her evolving view of apostates. Enjoy!_

* * *

><p><strong>Killer's Lair, Lowtown<strong>

Hawke shook her head, biting back tears. "No. No, no, no. You're going to be fine."

She glanced back at her assembled companions. "Anders, heal her."

"Hawke-"

"_Heal_ her!"

"Hawke," Anders said, "she's... well, she's too far gone. No amount of healing magic will reverse this."

Merrill knew he was right. Quentin, the notorious Kirkwall Killer, had dismembered his victims and pieced them back together with surgery and magic in a vain attempt to resurrect his long lost love. Leandra, Hawke's mother, had unfortunately held a resemblance to the sick mage's lost lover and was the final piece of the puzzle. It was blood magic if Merrill had ever seen it, and once blood magic was thrown into a situation, people usually ended up dead.

It pained Merrill to see Marian so devastated. Hawke was _never _sad. She was strong and beautiful and...

And as she watched Hawke hold her dying mother in her arms, as she watched her fight to hold back tears and desperately try to pretend everything was going to be fine, Merrill knew that Hawke would never be the same. She would never again be the beautiful, powerful, confident mage Merrill had first met all those years ago. What she was watching was the death of the Hawke she loved. It broke her heart to see.

"I-It's all right," Leandra croaked. She was gasping for breath, and Merrill could see the woman's strength was quickly slipping. Leandra reached up and traced Hawke's quivering jaw with trembling fingers that were not her own; Merrill could see the stitch marks along her wrist. "It's... all right, Marian. I'm off to see your father... and your sister."

"No," Hawke said, shaking her head. "I won't let you. I won't let you go."

Leandra coughed and gasped, "Oh, my beautiful girl. I'm so proud of you. Don't... don't cry. I'm... so... proud..."

Her eyes fluttered, then closed, and the woman's ravaged, scarred hand fell limp. Marian stared at her, still cradling her mother in her arms, gently rocking back and forth and shaking her head. "No," she whispered. "Mother, no. Come back. Not you too."

Aveline bowed her head and said, "I'm sorry, Hawke. She's gone."

"No," Hawke gasped, tears streaming down her face. She touched her mother's face, as if trying to rouse her from sleep. "No, it's not... she's not..."

She broke down in tears, burying her face in her mother's neck and hugging her tightly. Merrill fidgeted, unsure how to comfort her. Varric was off restraining Quentin (who had only been knocked unconscious by their battle) and Aveline was standing in stoic silence, occasionally glancing in Merrill's direction as if nudging her to do something.

_Oh, I'm no good at this,_ she thought. _I'd probably end up making things worse._

But as she watched the heroic mage cling to her mother, weeping quietly, she knew she had to do _something_. She couldn't just let Hawke cry alone like this. But what could she do?

_I don't even know how humans deal with death_, she thought, panicking. _They certainly don't treat it like the Dalish. Humans never do anything like the Dalish. What if I offend her? What if I only make her cry more?_

She screwed her eyes shut and thought, _Come on, Merrill, Hawke needs you now more than ever. Do something._

She finally bowed her head and murmured the first words that came to mind. "_Vir sulahn'nehn, vir dirthera, vir samahl la numin, vir lath sa'vunin._"

It was an old elven prayer for the dead, one of the few things that remained of Dalish culture. Roughly translated, it said, _we sing, rejoice; we tell the tale; we laugh and cry; we love one more day. _It was far from what Hawke needed, but it was all Merrill could do.

She hesitated, then put a tentative hand on Hawke's shoulder. "I'm... I'm so sorry, _ma vhenan_."

If Hawke heard, she didn't respond. Merrill squeezed Hawke's shoulder, then stepped back, wringing her hands. Varric, meanwhile, managed to succesfully bind Quentin's arms behind his back. He scowled and swatted the man upside the head. "At least we've got this scumbag. That has to count for something."

"No!" the mage groaned, blinking slowly. "Is she gone? My love? No!"

Hawke definitely heard that. At the man's voice, her head snapped up, a dark scowl pulling at her features. Merrill could almost feel the animosity pouring off the mage and actually had to take a step back. She held out a hand and said, "Hawke, now don't do something-"

"Don't," Hawke snarled. She lowered her mother to the ground and straightened, scooping her staff into her hands as she rounded on the man. "Varric," she hissed. "Get him on his feet."

Varric narrowed his eyes, but did as he was told. He grabbed the man by the back of his neck and shoved him to a standing position, no easy task given the dwarf's diminutive size. Quentin staggered slightly, off-balance, and fixed Hawke with a fearful gaze. "You've already taken my love from me, apostate. What more do you want?"

Hawke's breath was coming in short, staggered gasps, tears still streaming down her cheeks. Her hands were clenched into tight, shaking fists and the amber-colored orb at the end of her staff was glowing dangerously. "You..." she managed to choke out, "hunted and killed women across Kirkwall for _years_. You _kidnapped_ my _mother _and resurrected her as this... this... this _monster_!"

She drew closer to the Blood Mage. Dangerously close. Merrill found herself gripping her staff until her knuckles were white, and she noticed Aveline resting a hand on the hilt of her sword, just in case. Hawke's quivering frame was primed to explode, and with a mage as powerful as she was, such an outburst could be dangerous – maybe even fatal.

"I did not _take_ your love," Hawke snarled. A low rumble built on the air, and a pressure began to build within the room. The air grew so thick Merrill found it almost difficult to breath. The flickering light of the torches that lit the area drew back as Hawke passed, and the tip of her staff began to sine with a malevolent scarlet light.

"Hawke..." Varric said slowly. "Don't do anything stupid."

Hawke ignored him and drew even with Quentin, resting the bladed end of her staff in the dirt at his feet. "_You_ took my _mother_."

"She was not your mother," the Kirkwall Killer pleaded. "She was my love. I speant years searching for her and you _stole_ her from me!"

"Stole her?" Hawke said. "_Stole_ her?"

Merrill sensed something was wrong a second before Hawke erupted into motion. In the blink of an eye, the bladed end of Marian's staff came up. The next moment the blade was buried in Quentin's chest.

"Hawke!" Aveline shouted.

Marian grabbed Quentin by the throat and yanked him forward, impaling him further on the bladed end of her staff. "She was _my mother_! She _wasn't yours to take_!"

Quentin sputtered, blood leaking from the corners of his mouth. Hawke drew back her staff and stabbed again. Varric shouted, "Hawke! Stop it!"

He reached out a hand to stop her. Merrill was taking a step forward to do the same, as was Aveline. A second later, all three were blasted back off their feet by a telekinetic blast that sent them sprawling. A strange wind began buffeting them, sending Hawke's robes billowing out around her.

Quentin screamed as Hawke stabbed him a third time, driving the bladed staff into his chest with a ferocious scream. He flailed and managed to hit Hawke in the face, hard enough to send Hawke staggering. Quentin, clutching his bloody chest, tried to limp away. Hawke threw an arm out and Quentin froze as a massive cloud of swirling black smoke sprang to life at his right. A man-sized, black-armored hand erupted from the cloud smoke to grab him by the shoulder, giant clawed fingers digging deep into his flesh. A furious scowl contorted Hawke's face into a mask of hatred and as Merrill watched, the mage's eyes began to glow a bloody scarlet.

"Marian!" Merrill tried to shout over the maelstrom. She knew what would come next. "No, don't!"

Too late. Marian threw out her other arm and an identical demonic hand grabbed Quentin's other side. Merrill's hair was buffetted by the wind as she struggled to rise to her feet. She ran forward and desperately clutched at Hawke's arm. "Marian! You don't want to do this!"

Hawke wordlessly shoved her away, sending her sprawling onto her back. Marrill picked herself up and shouted, "_Hawke_!"

But Hawke was beyond words now. The set of her jaw and the clench of her fists told Merrill that Hawke had made up her mind. Her eyes and hands were now pulsing with malevolent red light, Quentin was screaming, and Merrill was fighting to get up and somehow, somehow, stop what was coming.

Too late; Hawke tore her arms apart. Quentin let out an agonized shriek as the gigantic spirit arms mirrored the motion, rending the Killer's body. Merrill was forced to look away as she heard the nauseating sound of rending flesh and splattering blood. Varric cursed as Merrill heard several heavy, fleshy somethings bounce across the ground. When she finally opened her eyes, she saw Varric staggering away, covered in blood. Aveline had drawn her sword and was crouched behind her shield, also spattered with scarlet blood. When she finally peeked around the edge of the shield, her eyes were wide and... afraid.

Hawke was standing the middle of it all, staff held in limp fingers. For all the power she had demonstrated before, she suddenly looked very small and afraid. Her staff fell from limp fingers, clattering into the bloodstained dirt as the smoldering red light that still lit the orb at the top finally died.

Merrill carefully picked herself up, wary of any more violent outbursts from the mage. But she hurried forward when she saw Hawke stagger. She rushed to Marian's side and put a hand on her shoulder. "Hawke? Are you all right?"

The scarlet glow slowly faded from the woman's eyes, and she staggered again, as if her legs would no longer hold her weight. Like Varric, she was covered with blood. Her loose ponytail of raven-black hair had come undone and her hair was wild and messy.

Aveline, meanwhile, had sheathed her sword and stepped forward to study the aftermath of Hawke's rage. Merrill took a glance and instantly regretted it. Quentin was lying in several pieces scattered about the room, literally torn apart by Hawke's power and hatred. Merrill had never seen a power quite like the one Hawke had used. Innovation with magic was never good, and often involved demonic influence. Merrill prayed that wasn't the case here.

"Get her out of here," Aveline finally barked, pointing at Hawke. "Get her back to the estate. My guard will figure out what to do from here."

Merrill put an arm around the taller woman's waist and supported her as they struggled toward the exit. Hawke silently allowed herself to be led away, limping slightly. She was quivering, as if every muscle in her body was quaking in pain and shock. Merrill squeezed her gently, trying to reassure her. It had no effect.

Varric, meanwhile, wiped blood from his eyes and grunted, "You don't intend to arrest her, do you? All things considererd, Quentin dserved whatever he got."

"Regardless," Aveline sighed, "the guard has a responsibility to report this. Hawke's part can be... embellished. If not eliminated entirely."

Varric grinned. "If it's embellishment you're looking for, send your guard over to the Hanged Man. I'll give 'em all the embellishment they need."

"No thanks. I think I can handle it, Varric."

"Oh Maker," Hawke finally gasped, her voice quiet and frightened. "What have I done?"

* * *

><p><em>Author's Note: Part One is finished. Hope you all enjoyed it. I was inspired by Leandra Hawke's death in DA2 (spoilers, obviously) as well as the various character's reactions to the death. As the game continued, I started to feel really sorry for Hawke and I felt bad that we never got to see her properly react to or even mourn her lost loved ones. I really enjoyed writing this, so the next part will probably be up soon. It'll be shorter than my usual stories, but hopefully no less enjoyable. <em>

_As always, favorites/reviews are always appreciated. Happy reading!_


	2. Aftermath

**Hawke Estate, Hightown**

Merrill shook her head. "I don't know. Shouldn't the guard handle this? Don't you have rules or... what do you call them? _Protocols_?"

Aveline sighed and stared into the fireplace, resting a hand on the mantle. "We have protocols to apprehend criminals, but not to comfort the victims. We leave that up to the family."

"But... but I'm not Hawke's family!"

"You're the closest she has," Aveline pressed. "The only blood relation she has now is Carver."

Varric scowled at the Templar, who was sulking in the corner with a scowl on his face as he downed a large mug of ale. The dwarf snorted and said, "Something tells me Junior isn't going to be very understanding. That was never his strong suit."

"Oh, Carver's not that bad," Merrill said. "Sure, he's a little _gloomy_, but he's not downright mean. I mean, yes, he joined the Templars even though his sister is a mage. And I guess he did blame Hawke for their sister's death, but-"

She bit her lip. "Looking back, I guess I see your point. But what should I do?"

Isabela shrugged, leaning against the hearth and staring into the crackling flames. "Dunno, sweetie. Not exactly my area of expertise. Just pull out a little of that Dalish charm."

"She needs to comfort Hawke," Varric pointed out, "not get her into bed. I don't think charm is going to work."

"S-so what should I do?" Merrill said desperately. "I'm no good at this kind of thing. Why doesn't Isabela go in there?"

"Because," Isabela said patiently, "Hawke cares about you. She needs your support right now, not mine."

Varric chuckled. "I could have sworn you were going to make a crack about _you_ managing to get Hawke into bed."

Isabela rested her hands on her hips. "It's not for lack of trying, shortie."

Merrill fiddled with one of her tiny ceremonial braids. "So... what do I say?"

"Just tell her how sorry you are for her loss," Aveline instructed. "And that you're there for her if she needs you."

"And throw in that you're available for some sack-time if she needs it, too," Isabela contributed.

"I don't think Hawke would appreciate that."

Isabela shrugged, her heavy earrings jangling. "It would work on me."

"Sorry for her loss," Merrill repeated, staring into the fire. "And I'm here if she needs me. Okay. I can do that."

"Have you lost someone before, Daisy?" Varric asked.

"Of course. My friend Tamlen, back in Ferelden. And Mahariel as well."

"And what did you want to hear when you were still mourning?"

Merrill tapped her chin thoughtfully. "That... that they were in a better place. That their deaths weren't my fault. And maybe that things would look better in time."

"There you go," Varric said. "Now you know what to tell Hawke."

"But... but even if someone had told me that," Merrill said, "I wouldn't have believed it."

"Neither will Hawke, probably," Aveline admitted. "But she needs to hear it all the same."

Merrill chewed over this, then nodded. "Okay... okay, I'm ready. I know what to do."

Isabela flashed her a dazzling smile. "Knock 'em dead, sweetie."

Varric frowned at her. "I'm not sure that's an appropriate expression, given the circumstances."

"Hmm... you may be right," Isabela said with a frown. "But since when have I ever claimed to act appropriately?"

Merrill left them to their conversation, moving toward the door next to Sandal's enchanting table. The door was closed tight, as Hawke had disappeared inside as soon as the funeral had ended. Merrill hesitated at the threshold, fighting to work up the courage to knock.

The funeral had been nice enough; a Chantry priest had spoken at the docks, commending Leandra's soul to the humans' Maker and asking for His grace to be shed on Leandra's family and friends. Once finished, Leandra's ravaged body had been lowered into a ceremonial funerary boat and pushed out to sea. Once the boat had floated to a safe distance, Varric had fired a flaming bolt from his trusty crossbow, Bianca, and set the boat on fire. The flames had climbed up into the sky, flickering against the orange expanse of the setting sun. Under any other circumstances, she would have found it a beautiful sight. But her grief had stopped her from admiring the view.

She hadn't known Leandra well. They had spoken several times during Merrill's visits to the Hawke Estate, but Marian's mother had always seemed a little... uncomfortable in her presence. Merrill never really knew if Leanrda liked her or not, and she wasn't sure Hawke's mother had approved of her daughter's affections for an elf.

Still, it was Marian's mother, and that was enough to earn Merrill's sympathy. But since Hawke's magical outburst in Lowtown, the mage had refused to talk to her – or anyone for that matter – and had strictly avoided everyone else present. She wouldn't even talk to Varric, and the street-savvy dwarf had always been able to bring a smile to Marian's face.

Through the entire funeral, Hawke had maintained a strict, stoic outlook. Her jaw had tightened slightly when flames consumed the funeral boat, but her expression remained otherwise blank. When the boat finally sank beneath the waves, overwhelmed by the fire, she had silently turned and walked away. Merrill had hurried after her, trying to work up the courage to say something. But Hawke had returned to the estate and vanished into the west wing of the house.

Okay, she thought to herself, clenching her hands into tiny fists. _I can do this. I'm sorry for your loss and I'm here if you need me. Simple._

Then she reached up and rapped her knuckles against the door. She took a hasty step back, as if she half-expected Hawke to blast the door down. But there was no answer, so she knocked again. When there was still no answer, she leaned close and called, "Hawke?"

Silence.

She fidgeted and thought, _Oh, what do I do now?_

She reached out and slowly pushed the door open, cautiously peeking inside. "Hawke? Are you there?"

Still silence, but she saw the silhouette of a person sitting in a chair before the roaring fireplace. It could only be Hawke, so Merrill inched through the door and softly pushed it closed behind her. She wrung her hands and murmured, "Hawke, I..."

"It's my fault."

Merrill blinked. "W-what?"

"It's my fault Quentin got his hands on her," Hawke said, her voice dull. Merrill inched forward, further into the room, and saw that the fire in the hearth had long since died. The source of the flickering red-orange light was a crackling orb of fire that floated in the palm of Hawke's hand, casting her face into sharp shadows. The woman was staring into the flames with the same blank expression she had worn during the funeral, as if her mind was somewhere far, far away.

Hawke was a pyromancer, a mage skilled in the creation and manipulation of fire. Merrill had often found herself amazed and even a little jealous of her friend's talent, but she found herself a little nervous that she was messing with destructive magic within the confines of her home. With Hawke in such an emotionally raw state, the chances for her to lose control was higher than normal.

"I killed DuPuis," Hawke murmured. "All those years ago. I thought he was the Kirkwall Killer. And then I let the matter rest. I sat back, thinking I had solved the problem and everyone was safe."

"You had no way to know," Merrill said, looking down at her feet.

"No, I should have followed through," Hawke hissed, widening her fingers and letting the orb of fire grow. "I should have _made sure_. Something about DuPuis always nagged at me. There was always something in the back of my mind telling me I had missed something. But I wrote it off. I figured, _If the real Killer shows up someday, my skills are more than enough to handle him_."

"They were!" Merrill insisted, taking a few steps toward Hawke. "You caught him, in the end..."

She laced her fingers together, still not meeting Hawke's eyes. "Leandra... wasn't your fault, Hawke. There was nothing you could do."

"No, I could have _been_ there sooner!" Hawke shouted. She clenched her fist and the fire vanished with a quiet _pop_ and a shower of sparks. "I... I could have _done something more_!"

She slumped forward, resting her hands on her knees. "But no matter how strong I fought, my magic... it just wasn't _enough_!"

"Magic can't do everything," Merrill ventured. "It's a tool, used to help people. It doesn't make you a god."

Hawke shook her head. "I couldn't save Bethany, all those years ago. She died because I wasn't fast enough to save her. I couldn't stop Carver from joining the Templars. I kept telling Mother that I would keep the rest of our family safe. That I wouldn't let anyone..."

"You didn't!" Merrill said. "You didn't fail anyone, Hawke. It's just..."

She sighed. "I knew I wasn't going to be good at this. I just don't know what to say."

Hawke shook her head, staring into the dead fireplace. She folded her hands in her lap and sat back in the chair. "There's nothing you can say, Merrill."

They lapsed into silence for a long time. Merrill eventually sighed and said, "Hawke... If you need anything, I'll be right upstairs."

She was turning back to the door when Hawke's voice drew her back.

"The Templars are right."

Merrill slowly turned back. "What?"

Hawke shook her head absently. "Maybe the Templars are right to lock us mages up in towers and stop us from roaming freely. If the Templars had gotten their hands on Quentin, none of this would have happened."

"Hawke-"

"And it's not just Quentin," Hawke continued. "When he kept calling Mother his love, I... I lost control. I lashed out, with magic more powerful than any I've felt before. I... I killed him, even though I knew I shouldn't. I couldn't stop myself."

"No one holds it against you, Marian."

Hawke shook her head with an irritated scowl. "No, they should! I should have more control! I should have more _restraint_!"

She sighed and rubbed her eyes. "Merrill... I'm afraid. I've spent all my life thumbing my nose at the Chantry, thinking mages shouldn't have to bend to their will. But for the first time, I'm starting to think maybe those rules... maybe they're there for a reason. Maybe mages are too dangerous to roam free and are better off if we follow the Chantry's rules."

She shook her head, voice quivering. "Maybe things would have been better off if I had been locked up with the rest of the Circle mages.."

"Don't talk like that, Hawke," Merrill pleaded quietly. "Please don't-"

"Maybe I want to, Merrill," Hawke said. "When Bethany died, Mother and Carver blamed me. They said they didn't, but I could always feel it. Carver didn't even bother to disguise it most times. And they were _right_. Bethany died because I wasn't strong enough to kill that ogre that killed her. I made myself a promise that day that I would never be that weak again."

With a flick of her fingers, she lit the orb of fire again, once again staring deep into the flames. "I know a lot of tricks," she said. "But that's all they are: tricks. None of it mattered when it counted. I had a chance to turn things around, a second chance to show that I had learned from Bethany's death. And I failed. _Again_."

With a flick of her fingers, she sent the orb flashing into the air. It roared forward before exploding within the confines of the fireplace, instantly setting the cold logs aflame. The crackling light lit the entire room, throwing Hawke's face into stark contrast. The sudden glow illuminated Hawke's old scar, which ran down from her forehead, over her right eye, across her lips, then sideways over her chin. According to Marian, it was an old souvenir from an overzealous Templar who had caught her playing with a weak fire spell when she'd been a teenager. The Templar's blade had almost carved Hawke's head in two as the knight fanatically pursued the infant apostate, but she had luckily escaped. To many humans the scar would have marred Hawke's otherwise beautiful features, but Merrill found it strangely endearing, adding to Hawke's charm. But all that charm was gone now, lost in the grief that now swelled in Hawke's pale eyes.

"Maybe this is my punishment for resisting the Chantry," she said, her voice flat and dull. "The price I have to pay for my freedom."

Merrill hesitated, then approached her and sank to her knees in front of the other woman. She gently took Hawke's hands in her own, smaller ones. "Hawke, I need you to listen to me."

Hawke hesitated, then met Merrill's gaze. The tiny elf stared at the mage and said, "I... Remember what I said? The first time we... were together? I told you that I wasn't like you. I'm not a powerful mage, or a respected warrior, or a beautiful woman."

"Merrill..."

"Let me finish," Merrill said. "In the days I first met you, I wished I was you. As far as I was concerned, you could do everything better than I could. You could manipulate magic like I never could. You commanded a respect I could never hope to have. And... and people loved you. You were beautiful and kind and always willing to help others. And I knew I would never be like that, no matter how much I wanted to."

She looked down at her sandals. "When we were in the Fade, I proved that. To you, and myself. When Wyrme promised me the power to save my people, I accepted his offer without question. But you... you held fast. You rejected everything the demons gave to you, even when everyone else turned against you. Even me."

She hesitantly looked up and met Hawke's piercing blue-gray gaze. "I don't envy you, Hawke. You've had a difficult life. And it doesn't seem to be getting easier."

Hawke shook her head. "That I can believe."

"But I also think if anyone can handle a life like this, it's you."

"And what if I don't want to?" Hawke said. "What if I think it's easier to just turn myself into the Circle? Let myself become Tranquil like all the other captured apostates?"

Merrill blinked. "You... you don't mean that."

"Maybe I do, Merrill," Hawke snapped, tears beginning to shine in her eyes again. "Maybe I... maybe I don't care about feeling any more. Maybe I don't..."

"Shh," Merrill said, reaching up and cupping Hawke's cheek. She traced her thumb over Hawke's old scar, a gesture she knew Hawke found comforting. The mage's breath was hitching as she fought to hold back tears. Merrill continued to stroke her cheek. "You can do this."

Hawke shook her head, silent tears starting to leak from her eyes. "I don't... I don't want to. I just want my mother back."

"I know."

The mage shook her head. "I don't... I don't want this power any more, Merrill. I just want to be normal. Like Fenris or Isabela."

Merrill smiled. "You don't need to deny your powers in order to live a normal life. Besides, you really think Fenris and Isabela are _normal_?"

Hawke let out a choked laugh, tears wetting her cheeks. "I don't know. I guess not."

She sniffed, still struggling mightily to maintain her composure. "I didn't... I didn't mean it, Merrill. I don't want to be Tranquil. I just don't want to feel like this any more."

"No one does, _ma vhenan_. It'll be all right."

That did it; Hawke finally broke down and began sobbing. Merrill pulled her close and let Hawke cling to her. The mage held tight to her like a drowning woman would to a floating raft. Merrill let her cry, knowing it was what Hawke needed, knowing it was all she could do to help. She patted Hawke's back, all nervousness gone now; she knew now what she needed to do, what Hawke needed from her.

Eventually, when Hawke had calmed down some, she drew back and sniffed, her eyes red. She rubbed the tears from her cheeks and let out a weak chuckle. "Oh if Varric could see me now. This would certainly change some of the stories he tells about me."

Merrill smiled. "I won't tell if you won't."

Hawke nodded slowly. "I... thank you, being here... you have no idea what it means."

"I think I have an idea, _ma vhenan_."

She considered leaving, then hesitated and said, "Hawke... there's something else I need to talk about. Then I'll leave you in peace."

"You aren't bothering me, Merrill," Hawke sighed, sitting back in her chair with an air of exhaustion. She closed her eyes for a few moments, then nodded and said, "Talk away. I'm listening."

"When..." Merrill bit her lip nervously. "When you killed Quentin, your eyes... well they got a bit... _creepy_."

Hawke raised an eyebrow. "Oh? How so?"

"Well, it was a little difficult to see what with the spectral wind and the screaming and the... well, you know. But when I looked in your eyes, I saw..."

"Just say it, Merrill."

"Well, they started glowing. Bright red, like fire."

Hawke frowned. "Odd. I don't remember that. Then again... well, I don't want to remember much of what happened in Quentin's lair after..."

"I just wanted to say that I've only ever seen people's eyes change like that when they're immersed in very powerful blood magic. The blood magic is so strong that a person's body can't contain it, and it seeps out through the eyes, fingers..."

"Blood magic..." Hawke echoed, staring over Merrill's shoulder, into the fire again. "Just great. So what exactly did I do to Quentin?"

"I'm not sure. I've never seen anything quite like it. But Quentin had thinned the boundary between our world and the Beyond. And I think, with you in an already emotionally-weakened state, you may have brought the attention of a spirit... or a demon."

Hawke's shoulders slumped. "You're joking. So I may be an abomination on top of all of this?"

"I don't think so," Merrill reassured her. "If you'd been possessed by a demon, you'd be conscious within the Beyond and you'd show physical changes. But I'm wondering if some spirit or demon felt your pain and took pity on you, granting you the powers of a seasoned Blood Mage in order to achieve your vengeance."

Hawke rubbed her eyes. "So Fenris was right... all apostates eventually turn to blood magic. Whether they want to or not, it seems."

"Blood magic doesn't need to be used for evil, you know," Merrill ventured. "You could treat it like what it is at its foundation: very powerful magic. It could help you."

"Won't I have to worry about being turned into an abomination?"

Merrill frowned. "I'm not sure. I mean, I can't presume to know the mind of demons. You seem fine to me. But then again, I can't be sure you aren't an abomination already and just lying to me. But you still look like Hawke, so I'm not sure. But if the demon was inside you, why wouldn't it reveal itself to you? I wonder if demons don't always try to take over their hosts? Or-"

"Merrill," Hawke said, finally sounding amused. "You're rambling again."

"Right. Sorry. Point is, I don't think you're an abomination and I think as long as you're careful, you won't become one."

Hawke nodded, looking small and exhausted as she stared into the fire. After a few long moments of silence, she said, "You're wrong, you know."

Merrill glanced up, frowning. "What about?"

"You told me once," Marian sighed, "that you weren't like me. That I was clever and beautiful and..."

She shook her head and met Merrill's vivid green gaze. "You were wrong. You're clever and strong and beautiful as well, Merrill. And... and I wouldn't be able to get through this without you. I really wouldn't. Thank you."

Merrill smiled, blushing furiously. "Is this where I act all humble and say, _oh, Hawke, you're such a flatterer_?"

Hawke chuckled, her demeanor seeming to brighten the tiniest bit. "Not if you don't want to. And it wasn't flattery, by the way."

Merrill smiled wider and said, "In that case, I'll just say thank you, Hawke .I don't deserve you."

"And I don't deserve you."

"Good," Merrill said cheerfully, putting on a confident face for Marian. "Glad that's settled."

She reached out and squeezed Hawke's hand. "Dry your tears, _ma vhenan_. The others are waiting for you."

* * *

><p>"My mother..." Hawke began, "was, above all else, a strong woman. She never grew tired of retelling the story of my birth, when she was in labor for almost twenty hours. She then went through the same ordeal years later, with the births of Bethany and Carver."<p>

They were gathered in the study, the fire roaring in the background. Fenris, Sebastian, and Carver were standing together near the hearth, far from the mages present. Anders, Merrill, Aveline, and Isabela were gathered in the center of the room, while Varric was standing by himself off in a sufficiently shady corner. All were listening intently.

Marian smiled, half to herself. She caught Merrill's gaze and Merrill nodded encouragingly. The mage nodded back and continued, "No matter what struggles the Hawkes faced in life, we always knew we could count on Mother to stay strong in the face of adversity. When we first arrived here in Kirkwall, we had no home, no money, and no idea what to do. But Mother did not panic. She gritted her teeth and did what had to be done."

Marian faltered, her voice catching a little. She swallowed and continued, "I like to think she passed that trait on to her children. That strength of will, that determination and refusal to give up. They are... admirable qualities."

She took a deep breath and said, "My mother led a difficult life. She was cast out by her family, driven from her home and husband, forced to watch her youngest daughter die, and stranded in an unfamiliar place with no prospects to return home. But she is in a better place now, a place where she can find peace in the arms of the Maker. We should never forget her, and never forget the example she left behind."

She looked up and held Merrill's gaze, as if she was the only person she felt she could look at. Merrill was glad to see Hawke's eyes clear of the sorrow that had clouded them earlier. Now, she was calm, collected, and focused. They all would need that in the days to come.

Once she finished with her short speech, Hawke seemed to deflate a little, as if all her energy was suddenly sucked out of her. Her back slouched and her knees buckled slightly. She folded her arms across her chest and murmured, "Thank you all for coming. Not all of you knew my mother well. It... it means a lot to me that you came."

Varric, off in his shadowy corner, nodded as he stroked the stubble on his cheeks. "Wouldn't miss it for the world, Hawke."

Anders also nodded. "We wouldn't abandon you at a time like this, Marian."

Hawke smiled and said, "I'm truly blessed to have friends like you guys."

Isabela laughed. "Oh come now, Hawke. You'll make me blush."

* * *

><p><em>Author's Note: Still no idea what made me start this story, but the inspiration is still coming, so I'm still writing. Sorry for the mush, but Merrill's character (at least when I write it) just attracts mush like a magnet. :D<em>

_One more chapter and this story should be finished. Until then, happy reading. As always, comments/critiques are always welcome._


End file.
